knees knocking and blood flowing
by piratesmiley
Summary: "She knew that his discomfort and squeamishness was a psychological issue, so she was patient with him. But he tended to be utterly infuriating." In which Fitz does Jemma a favor, despite his aversion to grossness.


A/N: I don't own AOS, obviously. Title from _For Flotsam_ by Los Campesinos!. Cross-posted to AO3. Beta-ed by almostfamousgrl on tumblr.

* * *

"Oh, that is _disgusting_."

"Oh, _alright_, Fitz, just look away if it bothers you so much," she hissed, with as much bite as she could manage while surrounded by sludge. Historically, their most vicious rows have started because of something a little _too_ biological that she had brought into the lab (the arguments were never actually _about_ the offending specimens, but they _always_ started with them).

Fitz was across the room, watching intently but staying as far away as possible while still technically remaining within lab walls. He would have gone and worked in the loading bay already if Coulson hadn't forbade it after the last fiasco (it was a _misfire, _and even so, it hadn't been loaded, but nobody seemed to care about those little details) and frankly, he didn't think he should have to leave. She was the one that wanted to do gross things; she should've cordoned herself off. But, he supposed, he chose to share a lab with her.

(He chose to share nearly everything with her.)

She knew that his discomfort and squeamishness was a psychological issue, so she was patient with him. But he tended to be utterly infuriating.

Actually, he was almost always infuriating.

It had been a long time. Not long, in terms of the existence of the universe, obviously, but long enough in her own existence. He was the longest friendship she had ever had. Maybe the only real one. He had been on her radar since day one at the Academy (she made a point of picking out the brightest minds in the room), but she had never rucked up the nerve to go and talk to him until she (literally) ran in to him making a grocery run at three in the morning in the middle of finals week.

Her nerves were shot after a week straight of little sleep and intense studying, and really she had just wanted to pass out for a few hours before her exam in the morning, but her roommate gently pointed out that she hadn't eaten in two days. So she trudged to the closest 24-hour joint and shuffled through the aisles with a tea tin and a bag of biscuits, looking for something of substance. And then she backed into Fitz.

"Oh, sorry!" she said instantly as she whirled around.

"'S alright," he mumbled, looking as tired as she felt. But almost instantaneously he focused, eyes widening in realization.

"Hi," she blurted.

"You're Jemma Simmons," he said, at the same time she was saying that he was Leo Fitz. They both laughed awkwardly. Jemma suddenly felt utterly embarrassed by the state of her appearance.

She offered a hand. "Nice to meet you, finally," she said, feeling very exposed.

"You too," he said, and started to smile.

They ended up talking for a while; he asked about her exams and she about his, and he mentioned an invention he was working on, and it happened to be something she had been wishing existed just the week before; and she ended up admitting that she'd wanted to come up and talk to him before, and he did this sweet little hand-through-hair thing that shattered something small and quiet inside of her and suddenly her throat was closing up, and they wandered over to the cash register in silence as she tried to remember why she was here. He walked her home and the darkness hugged them close as they discussed in whispered tones Professor Vaughn's last lecture, and when she stopped at her door she looked up into his eyes and sensed that this was the beginning of something important.

Jemma flushed thinking about it, every time she recalled the event that marked the beginning of their friendship. She huffed in annoyance, trying to put it in the back of her mind. Her hands were covered with thick gloves and the thick gloves were covered is slime (correction: _yet unidentified biological particulate_). She shook her head a bit, trying to get her hair out of her eyes. Usually she had the forethought to tie her hair up before diving into a task – it was only proper lab procedure – but she had forgotten this time, the argument with Fitz distracting her. She shook her head a little again – unsuccessful. She blew upwards – still nothing.

"Here," Fitz said, and she looked up immediately to see him rounding the table. She hadn't realized he was still watching her. She turned her head to see him root around in her desk for a ponytail holder.

She could sense more than see Fitz's metered approach, slow and deliberate, like she was something to be cautious of. She felt his body heat radiating against her back and she begged the hairs on her neck not to stand up, to no avail. One of his hands came up slowly, and the instant his digits came into contact with her scalp her eyes fluttered closed.

This was potentially very dangerous.

He was gentle, he didn't want to tangle her up or pull too hard, so he gently gathered up the locks, bringing them to the back of her head. She forced her eyes back open, but they refused to go farther than half-lidded. She wondered idly if that looked worse.

She felt him fumble for the ponytail holder, tugging her head back a bit along with his attempts, before slipping the hair through a few times. It was a little higher than she would usually do it, just by a bit, and she could feel it resting slightly akimbo, but it was sound for its purpose. She felt him sigh, checking over his work.

"Look at me," he murmured. She turned to him automatically before realizing that she shouldn't have. She hadn't fixed her face first, hadn't opened her eyes all the way or wiped the tenderness from her expression.

But neither had he.

He reached up and fixed a small bump. "Looks good," he said. He was expressionless for a moment before turning and retreating to his far corner.

"Thanks," she murmured, and refocused as best she could on her particulate.

* * *

It wasn't until later, after a couple hours of tests and a very carefully repackaging of the offending material for imminent destruction at the Slingshot, that she emerged from the lab and went up to the kitchen for some tea. Skye was sitting at the counter there on her laptop.

"Jem?"

"Yeah?"

"Your ponytail's a little crooked," Skye said, frowning. Jemma knew why. They had had numerous conversations about how Skye thought Jemma was a bit of a perfectionist. It was strange to see her untidy.

"Fitz did it," she said without thinking.

After a moment of silence, Jemma looked up from stirring her tea to see Skye's eyebrows raised in her particular fashion of scandalized and intrigued.

"Fitz messed up your perfect ponytail? Good for him," she said, sounding impressed.

Jemma trained her eyes back on her tea. Tea didn't make assumptions. Tea didn't ask her about her feelings. "No, I had my hands full with the 'slime' so he put it up for me."

There was another moment of silence. When Jemma peeked up the expression was one of open-mouthed surprised.

Skye snapped her mouth shut. "That's really sweet," she murmured, brow furrowed.

"What?" Jemma asked, worried at what was coming. In her book, Skye was basically a loose cannon.

"Jem, if you're in love with him you should say something."

Jemma sighed. "No, I really shouldn't."

"Yes, you should. It sucks to live like this."

"SHIELD has a very strict anti-frat policy, Skye. And I'm not saying I am, anyway," Jemma added, and Skye gave her a look.

"Alright, fine," Skye said, "But I think one day the dam is going to burst."

"You underestimate my patience," Jemma replied. "I do have a certain amount of faith that things will work out okay."

"Faith?" Skye faux-gawked. "That's not very _scientific_."

Jemma smiled wryly, "Trust me, I know." She pushed off the counter and rounded it, coming up to bump hips with Skye. "What are you working on?" she asked, canting her head towards the laptop screen.

"I'm strategizing," she grins. "Ward gave me extra drills today for being two minutes late to training. I'm going to prank him so hard he won't be able to sit for a week."

"Now _that_ is something I can help with," Jemma replied, devious smile in place.

* * *

When Jemma returned to the lab, Fitz was back in his usual spot. The offending material was packaged up, so there was no reason for him to stay away any longer.

"Ah, balance is restored," she muttered. He looked up and grinned at her.

She returned to her desk in silence, but it wasn't long before he broke it. "Listen, I'm sorry I was being an arse about the mucky stuff before," he said, and she couldn't help but smile a bit.

"It's alright, Fitz," she replied. He didn't really need to apologize. In the grand scheme of things, this wasn't even a transgression; it was part of the process, his resistance a staple of her work.

"Really, though, I'm sorry," he pressed. He must have been worried, her being gone so long while she was talking with Skye. She looks over towards him, considering his expression carefully. She smiled softly.

"Really, it's okay," she said, and she meant it. He smiled back.

No, you couldn't say she didn't have patience.


End file.
